Page 79 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Humphrey had made various veiled remarks alluding to his reasons for inviting the unknown Sir Archie and his wife to The Grange. Something about "putting the boot on the other foot".

Whatever this really meant, Sybil's role was to attend to the practicalities of having three houseguests. There was much work to do, such as organizing rooms to be made up, consulting with Cook to decide upon the menu, and the butler with regard to spirits and wine. Humphrey was so rarely at The Grange she'd taken on most of the roles normally undertaken by the master of the house. When he did instruct her to organise a weekend house party she generally assumed there was some business matter at the heart of it. Humphrey was not naturally gregarious and had few true friends.

However, he did understand the importance of keeping in tune with various important personages and nurturing connections. Sybil had wondered if this Sir Archie might have an influential position in the City that could in turn assist Stephen. He'd hinted at investigating options for Stephen in the Foreign Office.

But as she worked and her mind wandered, she realised the reasons for the weekend's visit had not been fully explained and nor did it really matter.

All that mattered was that Stephen was leaving The Grange immediately afterwards and, once he was gone, her life would return to the barren wasteland it had been for nearly twenty years.

It was while selecting some hothouse flowers in the conservatory that she spied Stephen through the glass. He was near the gardener's hut, amidst a collection of jars.

With a quick glance about to ensure no one was about, Sybil picked up her muslin skirts and hurried round the back of the house, excited and nervous.

"Good lord, Stephen, you look like you're participating in the black arts. All these spiders? Is this for tomorrow night? Is Sir Archie a collector, too? Humphrey mentioned something about your fascination for the insect realm. But these spiders. Are they really…necessary?"

He regarded her seriously as he looked up from dropping a spider into a jar. A number of tall, glass jars were lined up on a long tabletop, each containing a single black spider.

"Yes,"

he said simply, and for a moment it looked as if he were about to reach over from the other side of the table and take her hand.

Instead, he glanced up at the sky. It was overcast and there was a heaviness about the air.

A heaviness in the atmosphere between them.

Sybil's heart felt as if it weighed double as she regarded the lovely man before her. He looked tired and handsome in a stark, ascetic way, very different to the carefree young Stephen Cranborne Sybil was used to dealing with.

Stephen's normally mobile expression was grim. The habitual pleasant smile that played about his lips, affording him that charming, genial air that made him so attractive to Sybil—to women in general—was nowhere in evidence.

When he locked glances with Sybil, there was a desperate, hunted look in his eye which was borne out in his voice as he muttered, "God Sybil, I hate the idea of leaving you."

He drew in a breath. "It's strange…but when I first learned I was Lord Partington's new heir, I was excited only for what that meant in terms of elevating myself in the world."

He closed his eyes briefly, then refocused them on Sybil with an intensity that made her heart shift dangerously. More so when he added, "Only after I met you did I discover what I really had to lose."

The shrubs afforded privacy. Sybil glanced longingly at them. Stephen had proved himself a young man of passion and spontaneity but he was being careful today. Or had he accepted Sybil's earlier rejection of his idea to slip away to the beech wood as affirmation that their affair was at an end?

Suddenly she wished she had it within her to boldly initiate something more between them. To leave it like this made her feel so…hollow.

"Let me introduce you. To the spiders,"

he said after a long silence. He sounded reserved. As if he were reluctant to acknowledge what had been between them or to let her closer and pain speared her. He cleared his voice, his tone now business-like. "In this jar we have Lady Julia. See how large and glossy and self-satisfied she looks? She's a prime article and she'll gobble up her prey in a heartbeat, believe me."

Sybil laughed uncertainly as she leaned closer, struck by foreboding, suddenly. "It sounds as if you're well acquainted with Lady Julia."

She peered into the jar. "She clearly doesn't like the look of me. Look how she's reared up and bared her fangs."

When she glanced at Stephen and saw the set rigidity of his mouth, her instincts went onto high alert. Lady Julia? Was there more meaning to this? Before she could say anything, he went on.

"Ah, she's jealous of you. She sees how it is. That I have eyes only for lovely Lady Sybil and that no one else will do. Beware of Lady Julia. She will strike when you least expect it and her bite is lethal."

He moved over to the next jar while Sybil decided she'd keep an extra vigilant eye on this Lady Julia now that she'd reassessed her opinion of her being a placid, homely baronet's wife.

"Now here is Irresistible Araminta. She is quite innocent by Lady Julia's standards but don't be deceived. Her bite is just as lethal. She simply hasn't learned the art of sizing up her quarry. She makes mistakes. The gentleman spider who courts her may or may not come off second best. Lady Julia, on the other hand, is used to being victorious."

Sybil looked longingly at Stephen's strong, gentle hands and wished they clasped hers rather than the glass jar containing Irresistible Araminta.

"Ah, look!"

His lips quirked as he held up another jar. "This is Miss Hetty. See how shyly she meets our eye? She's not one to fear. She'll not devour the man who wins her, like her bold sisters. We shall not put her forward in this contest for she's too sweet to make a meal of anyone."

"So you and Sir Archie's great interest in spiders is behind this house party?"

Sybil queried with arched brow. She paused, then added softly, "You're settling the score over the wager you lost to Sir Archie before you came to The Grange, then?"

He bit his lip, took an audible breath, then said, "Yes, I behaved foolishly while Sir Archie's guest."

Indicating the spiders with a sweep of his arm, he went on, "Sir Humphrey knows I was enticed into making a wager I couldn't afford to lose—and which I should not have lost. It's with your husband's backing that this event involving Sir Archibald and Lady Banks is taking place."

"Oh Stephen, I'm sorry you have to go through this…potential humiliation."

Sybil reached for his hand across the table. "Sir Archie is a cheat!"

"I don't deserve your sympathy,"

he muttered. "I was in my cups and I wagered what I did not have to lose. My behaviour was deplorable and all I can say to excuse it is that my confidence in the outcome—and the expectation of the resulting admiration—went to my head."

He raised the glass jar he was holding and stared at the spider within? Lady Julia? "I knew the puny male would not survive the night with his much larger female consort but I was a fool to bet a thousand pounds on the outcome."

He sighed heavily. "I lost the wager and I'm certain I was the victim of a hoax. As is Sir Humphrey. He is as determined as I am to restore justice."

Tentatively, Sybil asked, "Are you looking forward to this weekend?"

She paused. "To seeing Lady Julia again?"

"God, no!"

With unexpected force, Stephen set down the glass jar. "I wonder if they even know what this is about, they are such a smug pair. They probably assume this is a sign they are coming up in the world."

"But they will when they see the candidates you've gathered for a repeat of the wager. Well, it shall be interesting. Now tell me, is there a Lady Sybil?"

she asked to change the subject, for Stephen was looking distinctly downcast and Sybil did not want to press him on what, exactly, had occurred at Archibald Ledger's home.

He gave her an assessing look. "I'm not sure."

He moved down the line of jars and looked into the next one then shook his head. "No, this one's deadly."

At the final jar, he lifted his head, saying uncertainly, "This one could perhaps be a Lady Sybil."

Sybil moved closer. She caught the warmth of his expression and the irregular beating of her heart picked up speed, even though he made no attempt to close the distance between them.

Then he smiled and after holding her gaze for several long seconds, reached for her hand across the table and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss.

Sybil had to force the words and her voice was unsteady as she whispered, "Why?"

He lowered his face a fraction, moved around to be close to her, and whispered back, "She's loyal and she'll do anything to achieve what she thinks is right."

His lips were so close to hers. So close. His eyes bored into her face as he went on in a murmur, "Even if it means hurting those she loves."

Sybil breathed through the tightness of her chest. Trembling, desperate he'd follow up the kiss on the back of her hand with more, knowing she must not succumb if he did, she asked upon a thread of sound, "Do you think she will be victorious?"

Stephen studied the spider. Then her. "Victorious in what? Happiness? Are spiders ever truly happy?"

Amusement crossed his features and he gave her hand a squeeze. "I think she's set herself up for failure. Even in the best of situations she can't succeed."

He drew in a deep breath. "But she can be happier than she is. She will of course have to submit to the male. That is her duty. It is the law of nature that she must procreate. Nature is depending upon her."

He held her gaze. "But she has choices."

Sybil made a derisive noise, which he silenced when he touched his forefinger to her lips.

"She is desirable."

He put his head closer and she closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of his breath on her cheek. His words were like a caress. "So very desirable. She has suitors vying for her favors but she holds the trump card."

Unconsciously, she leaned into him as he said softly, "The card of choice. She is in a position to choose the mate to sire her offspring…"

His voice trailed off in a whisper full of desperate-making suggestiveness. "And who's to know?"

Sybil swallowed. Then she gathered her wits and forced herself to smile, breaking the spell. "Poor, conflicted spider. If she is loyal there is only one choice to make."

She shrugged. "But I fear she is a foolish spider. I fear she has allowed her heart to get involved."

She bit her lip. "Doing the inevitable will be difficult."

Stephen regarded her a long moment. Then he shrugged, also, releasing her hand. "So she plays the loyalty card."

He became brisk. "Well, it had to end. You told me that. I just didn't want to believe you."

"Stephen, when you go to London, it's inevitable?—"

"That I find someone else? Someone younger?"

He shook his head and touched his heart, his flash of anger turning to sorrow. "No, Sybil,"

he murmured, "age has nothing to do with what happens here."

He slept badly that night.

Impotent rage made him thrash on his mattress as he attempted to conquer the demons that plagued him. Namely Lord Partington, to whom he owed a great debt of gratitude for staging the show that would see Sir Archie and Lady Julia given some of their own medicine. Furthermore, for welcoming him as the next heir before reluctantly conceding his patronage would have to take another form following the advent of Edgar.

When he awoke, he felt as if he'd been running all night from the hounds of hell. Emerging from his bedchamber, he cast around for Sybil, desperate to rest his eyes upon her, for that's what it would be—a peaceful release as he allowed his gaze to dwell on something good and wholesome and real.

A search of the gardens did not yield her so he went to his lair behind the conservatory, where he'd dubiously held out just a little hope of finding her looking for him. Instead, he found her undeserving husband.

His Lordship thought it a great joke and chortled when he saw the specimens Stephen had collected. "Oh, my lad, you're thorough. I like you far more than I thought I would and I only wish I were handing over the reins to you instead of that sapskull nephew of mine."

Then obviously remembering the phantom child Dr. Marsh had erroneously confirmed, he added, "Of course, Edgar's nose is greatly out of joint. He's barely addressed any of us since the news Lady Partington is expecting but it's early days yet."

He sighed, looking gloomy and Stephen felt the bristles on the back of his neck rise.

Was Lord Partington dwelling on what he considered an unpleasant duty when he visited Sybil tonight? The thought of the two of them fumbling and grunting—well, Lord Partington, at any rate—on the marital bed made him sick to the stomach. A bitter irony that the act was so distasteful to each of them though sanctioned by the Church, whereas the same act between Sybil and Stephen, who felt so deeply for each other, was a sin.

"Still, there may not be another child and if Edgar inherits, I fear for the future of this place."

Together they turned their attention from the gardens to the fine old house where Stephen had just spent the happiest days of his life and which contained the woman who had had the most influence over him. The woman he loved.

"The ladies will miss you. Lady Partington in particular. I think she has quite a soft spot for you."

Stephen searched for any sign of a double entendre and was satisfied. Daringly, he said, "She has been very good to me. I was eighteen when I went to war. By the time I returned, both my parents were dead and my income was low, just like the standards I accepted for myself. Lady Partington has reminded me how important it is to…aim high."

Low standards. Yes indeed! He was visited by an image of Lady Julia's sharp-eyed, speculative look as she took him in her mouth in the little pantry at her home. It made him squirm, but not so the memory of Lady Sybil spread-eagle beneath him, her sweet smile lighting up her face as she offered her luscious body to him. That had been real.

His heart felt heavy in his chest just thinking of what he could now never have but he wanted to talk of her, even if it was to her husband. "Lady Partington is a good woman who clearly loves The Grange. A wonderful model for her daughters to follow."

He slanted a look at his cousin. "She is both dignified and dutiful."

Lord Partington made a dismissive sound. "We must all do our duty."

"And she is beautiful too."

Lord Partington narrowed his eyes. "Your mother was a beauty!"

he exclaimed, insinuating that his own wife was not.

"As is Lady Partington,"

Stephen declared, quashing the urge to call out this man. Instead he damped down the anger, squared his shoulders and channeled his energy into more positive action. Pointing to the spiders, he said, "I must take these to the house."

But the house offered him nothing, now. The title and estate had always seemed too good to be true. Ephemeral. Finding love with Sybil had been real and true.

But now there was to be no more Sybil to caress. Only a vacuous weekend of dodging the gambits of the conniving Lady Julia.

A taunting reminder of his misspent youth. A reminder that since coming to The Grange he'd raised his standards.

Never again would Stephen be the callow young blade he'd once fashioned himself.